


Not Much Like Hatred Either

by Mayberryberry



Series: Your Philosophy Dreams Enough Strange Delights [2]
Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Bondage, Buck in chains, Cock Tease, I say it's a lot of non-con but damn Buck's into it, Just throw the whole canon away, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Riley with a plan, Torture, marie kondo that whole character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22044229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayberryberry/pseuds/Mayberryberry
Summary: While Grant is attempting to wring important information out of a wholly unconcerned Buck, Riley arrives to very quietly, and very carefully, to change the stakes.(Or,, Grant thought he could torture Buck into giving him what he wants but surprise Riley's better at getting a rise out of Buck than Grant will ever be. Riley has a plan and Buck cannot WAIT to find out what it is.)
Relationships: Riley Brody/Bambi "Buck" Hughes
Series: Your Philosophy Dreams Enough Strange Delights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1374772
Kudos: 11





	Not Much Like Hatred Either

Buck kept his head down, mouth open, eyes shut tight as he panted out this new pain, listened to the sound of the long, tapering iron lance stir the embers of the hearth, listened to the rain lashing down on the tin roof of their little den. 

“You don't have the temperance for this Grant,” Buck said, groaning and pushing his head back to look over at the huge form of the eldest Brody brother. “Trained for it though yeah? You know what you're doing. Technically proficient, and you've got the guts, but you're hearts not really into it.” 

“Even if it's not, are you going to last much longer?” Grant turned from the fire, his face set. 

“Nah,” Buck replied in a low growl. “Nah not much longer but you might just break before I do. Different, isn't it, working on someone like this when you don't have the order to.” 

Grant gave too much away, too used to being around allies to guard himself around enemies. He was an open book to Buck. Grant was far closer to breaking then Buck was. Buck could stay here for days longer then Grant could. He was a good soldier this one. Got his teeth into something and held on, Buck could take him as far down is it took to break him. Buck had had a lot of men like Grant under his command before. He knew how to break them. 

A silence had fallen while Grant cleaned up the table and assorted instruments he'd salvaged from Dr. Eickheart, savagely effective weapons from the Rakyat. He had to keep busy, keep his hands working, Grant was methodical. “Your brother know what you're up to? Spending all your time with me, ain't right, just got your brother back! Should be celebrating with him! Does Jason know who you're spending your quality time with?”

“No,” Grant met Buck's stare unflinching, “He's not going to.” 

“Ooh, plan to kill me then?” Buck's smile came easy on him. “Soon?” 

“Still haven't answered my question,” Grant's hand had closed in a fist, Buck didn't think he'd noticed. “Tell me where Riley is.” 

“Still don't know where he is,” Buck said with brisk honesty, “I haven't had a chance to look for him, I've been a little tied up here. And you're asking all the wrong questions if you ask me.” 

Grant's jaw set, but he wasn't stupid enough to ask his prisoner how to run an interrogation. Buck's smile widened into a grin. 

“Sleep on it,” Buck suggested. His voice was still raw from the screaming, his chest and sides, scored with the cuts and burns. Grant wasn't using glass or touching his face much, and so far hadn't done anything to Buck that he couldn't have treated himself with first aid. It was by far the most considerate, prolonged torture Buck had ever endured. Utterly lacking in creativity, no passion for it. Grant had no ability to inspire fear, let alone dread or panic, he was simply undertaking a  _ procedure _ . 

Grant didn't reply, but scooped a long black loop of cloth from the table and turned towards Buck. 

“Not this again, come on then Grant that's hardly...” Buck snarled. He tried to yank back, but he was still tied too firmly, manacles around his wrist chained up to a rafter, and his ankles chained to the floor. This was the only part he hated. The only thing and it was a simple annoyance.

Grant didn't flinch, just got a grip on Buck's hair and slid the blindfold down off his wrist around Buck's eyes and tightening it, tucking the tails in neatly. Soldiers, Buck reflected savagely, were the worst. At their best and most highly trained, they were fastidious, careful little fuckers, pedantic in their efforts. Grant was nothing if not obedient to his training. A sour moment where Buck reflected on his own military service passed before he felt the hot flush of his fury ebb. It helped to remember that how much he'd learned from Grant in there time together. The two younger brothers, his widowed mother, privileged upbringing in California. It filled in the information he had already drawn out of Keith. Keith had been nicely softened up to tell Buck anything he asked about before that beast Jason had traded the knife for him and fought Buck to a standstill. It had been Grant's intervention that had kept Jason from killing Buck. Shame really. All the same, he'd gotten more out of this interrogation than Grant had. 

“Should have let your brother finish me off,” Buck growled, low and savage, as Grant stepped carefully away. “Jason... There's a boy with a heart for this. You could ask him here. He knows what I did to Keith. He'd be glad for a chance to work out some anger management issues on me. I gave him plenty of reason to, he'd be better at this than you. He could take me apart like you couldn't dream of doing.” 

“You're never going near my family again,” Grant said softly. For an instant, his hands were around Buck's neck. The touch was soft, as if by accident, and Buck had a white-hot moment of doubt about Grant's inability to perform an act he couldn't undo. “You're going to tell me where I can find my baby brother, you're going to tell me where I can find Hoyt, you're going to tell me how I can hurt him.” 

“Your brother's dead, Hoyt's in a fortress surrounded by mercenaries, and you can't hurt him before he kills you. And you're going to kill me,” Buck murmured.

Then Grant's hands were gone, and his heavy boots moved across the rotting wood of their shack and out into the rain. 

Buck counted to sixty, listening carefully before he let his head drop down, his arms losing what strength they had left as he coughed and panted and shook. He couldn't let Grant see this, as much as Grant didn't have the heart to enjoy torture, he was still good at it, and Buck's strength, keeping him articulate and cocky and mostly professionally unaffected while Grant could see him, would fail him eventually.

He could outlast Grant though. He was stronger than that jacked up cream puff. 

Something touched his chest. 

It was so soft a moment went by before Buck realized he couldn't discount it as a bit of his torn shirt or a leaf blown in on the breeze. 

“Oy,” Buck growled, keeping his head down, keeping still. 

Not just a touch, a hand pressed flat to BUck's chest, and stroked slowly up, over the taped on bandages of former work from Grant. The cool touch of fingertips pressed into the dip in his solar plexus, the centre of his tattoo. 

Buck growled, his hands curling into fists in the chains above him. “What the hell are you playin' at?” 

There was a soft little snort that could have been laughter. Another hand touched Buck's side, sliding over his freshly bandaged ribs. 

“Come to gloat?” Buck guessed, his mind whirring and fighting to keep his voice soft. He had never thought anyone but Grant would be here. He'd never heard anyone come close to this place, wherever they were. Never heard anyone else. He had never had an instant to suspect Grant would share him. “Or finish me off? Grant send you because he didn't have the balls to?”

The hands on his sides twitched slightly, then withdrew. 

Buck couldn't hear any footsteps, couldn't hear anything. There was no sense of the other person at all. Couldn't smell him. Buck was flipping through the deck of people who could have found him, Rakyat and Mercenaries and Hoyt's men, the American tourists that Vaas was frothing at the mouth to get back. 

There was a rattle of chain and Buck's arms suddenly dropped, the dead weight of his arms dropping him to his knees. Surely his arms had never been this heavy.

“Fuck,” Buck hissed. Blood rushed down his arms and his head went blank with excruciating pins and needles. “The hell are you...” 

An iron rod hit him, shoved roughly sideways into his open mouth and nearly choking him with the shock of it. It shoved him back, driving his head into the wall hard enough to make stars burst behind his eyes and split his lip. A moment later he felt the heavy, cold weight of his arms lifted, pinned against the wall just above his head, and heard a lock snap shut. The iron bar was gone a moment later. 

“Bloody hell,” Buck coughed. His head was still spinning from the drop, the blow to the back of his head, the force that had thrown him back. Grant was strong enough to do that, but Grant wouldn't have fought a blindfolded man. Jason could have as well, but Jason would have wanted Buck to see him, Jason would have wanted Buck to know who was hurting him. For a moment the thought of Keith flashed through his head, and he dismissed it. Keith couldn't come anywhere near Buck, that was pretty fucking certain. 

And if he had he'd have just put a knife under Buck's ribs. 

“Well the sitting's nice,” Buck managed, his tongue drawn to the bloody split lip. He managed to untangle his legs out from under him and subsided against the wall, panting with the effort and the pain of moving. Grant was better than Buck was letting on. Buck rolled his shoulders and tipped his head carefully back against the wall, “Restful.” 

Another quiet snort. Another feather-soft touch on his chest. Buck was pretty sure no one he could think of would laugh at him in this situation, hit him in the mouth with an iron bar, and laugh at him again.

“You gonna keep this thing on then?” Buck shook his head, trying to loosen it enough to see out from under it. Hands closed on the side of his head, over the blindfold, stilling him. Hands smaller than Grants. “That's never Keith, is it? Come back to me?” He couldn't keep guessing like this. He wasn't going to get an answer and the point was it didn't matter. He was more rattled by whatever was happening now than he had been at anything Grant had been able to do. 

“Can't imagine it'd be Keith,” Buck went on, the hands on his chest slipped down, light over the neat bandages Grant had left him in. “Keith's far too well trained to drag this out. Made sure of that. He knew how to keep a man happy.” Buck swallowed hard, the hands had trailed slowly down his stomach and were slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his fly. “Not that you're not moving things along at a brisk pace.” 

Buck's mouth was still open when a hand pushed him back against the wall, turning his face slightly so the bump on the back of his head ground at the rough wall. “Shhh,” A soft voice admonished him. It came from right below Buck's face, whoever it was was pressed so close into Buck's space he could feel cool breath on his neck. “Shhhh,” Again the soft sound, even closer now, and Buck had no idea who they were. 

The hand pressing him carefully into the wall didn't move, and Buck didn't fight the touch, too distracted by the other hand slipping into his jeans and rubbing the heel of a hand, slow and filthy, down the length of his dick. 

“Fuckin' hell,” Buck breathed, “That really what you're on about?” 

A touch on his split lip made him flinch, and realize with a short, sharp moment of panic that he couldn't move, the hand pressing his head to the wall keeping him in place as a tongue traced the edge of his lower lip, sliding along the bloody split and sucked on it briefly. The sting made Buck hiss, and he shifted, trying to pick a moment to throw the stranger off. He still had no sense of them, couldn't smell them, wouldn't even know they were there if they hadn't gotten two hands and a tongue on him. There could be others. 

This thought was suddenly gone as teeth closed on his lip, spreading the split and sucking at it, a tongue rubbing along it, slow, obscene in its apparent gentility. The hand on his dick had settled into a careful grind, stroking through his briefs, careful and easy. Between that and the teeth on his lip, it was difficult to focus on when he could make a move to try and throw them off him. 

“G'off,” Buck growled, and there was hard suck at his bloody lip and a slow, hard rub on his dick before the stranger withdrew. 

It was so sudden, and so unexpected, that Buck was more thrown off than ever. He could not remember the last time he'd made a demand that had been granted without so much as a sound. His jeans zipped up and buttoned neatly and one thumb drawn across his bottom lip, dragging up a line of blood. He could have been alone again. The stranger could be standing over him, walking the room for all Buck could hear, leaving their tiny shack and walking into the rain. At least Buck could still hear the rain, it was comforting to know that as hard as he was straining to hear the other person, he hadn't gone deaf. 

“That easy hey? Alright, you are quiet, that just for me?” At this point it didn't matter who they were, Buck could let that question go if he could just figure out what they were doing here. “Can't even tell if you're still there.” He stretched out one leg experimentally, it met nothing but rough floorboards and he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. “Might be sitting on the floor of a damn hut on a rock in the rain talking to myself,” Buck went on.

A touch on his chest, over his heart. 

Gentle as it was, he flinched. The hand pressed flat to his chest, barely warmer than Buck's skin, and calloused, odd callouses that Buck couldn't think what the source could be. Then he realized, the stranger was feeling his heartbeat, hell he could probably see Buck's heartrate, there wasn't a lot of bullshitting you couldn't try when someone literally had their hand on your heart. Buck's hands closed into fists. 

“What of it,” he growled, dropping whatever bravado that hadn't already abandoned him, “You think you can get me rattled?” 

The touch didn't move, and after several seconds, Buck shivered slightly, the tension in his aching chest was getting to him. He was getting tired. Shit, Buck realized, fucking shit they could do this all night. He wasn't going to ask anymore, he couldn't bear it. 

“Right then,” Buck said with a heavy sigh, “Let's have you, what've you got in store for me.” 

Again, nothing happened, the gentle hand over his chest stayed still, slightly damp, Buck realized. Rain slick. They hadn't been in the hut before...

The thought broke off as the touch disappeared. Buck held his breath to listen but couldn't hear a thing, except, perhaps, a minor variation in the sound of the rain, like someone blocking the open door for a moment. 

Buck lay against the wall, hands chained just above his head, shaking slightly, and listening hard. 

He woke to feel Grant dragging him upright, snarling like an animal and ignoring Buck's shout of pain. He locked Buck upright again, yanked the blindfold off to glare at him. 

“Should leave that on,” Buck said, dazed, “Can't handle it, really.” 

“How the fuck,” Grant snarled, “Did you get down there.” 

“No fucking clue alright?” Buck was exhausted and rattled and Grant's familiar face and heavy, unmistakable purpose and presents was almost comforting. 

The ferocity of Grant's torture that day exceeded what Buck had come to expect, and he didn't speak to Buck, ignored every jibe, and wrenched the blindfold back in place at the end of the day after snarling his questions only once. 

He was still shaking when the heat of the day cooled, and the jungle grew quiet, and night began to fall. Long after Grant had left, someone laid a hand on Buck's stomach, gentle, cool, and again there was no variation in Buck's surroundings, no way for him to tell if there was anyone else here. 

“I can't even smell you, you flannel footed little jackass,” Buck said. 

A kiss was pressed to his chest, soft and warm and too intimate, too careful.

“Get off,” Buck snarled, and again, the kiss, and again, the soft hand on his stomach, were gone. “You're new at this interrogation thing, aren't you,” Buck said at last, at least as off balance as he had been last night. “You aren't supposed to listen to me.”

A soft huff of laughter came again. It was driving Buck to distraction that he couldn't even feel a breath from the other person. Hands were easing the button on his jeans again, tugging the zipper down, and Buck twisted slightly, wishing he had more leverage. “Fuckin hell.” He breathed. The hand slipped down the front of his open jeans, rubbing his dick, slow and hard and dirty, and again, there was a slow wet slide of a tongue on his lip, sucking at the cut, cracking it open with a sharp, clean pain that lanced through him. 

The pain that Grant had left him with reached equilibrium Buck could ignore as his dick twitched, grew hot and heavy and lengthened inside his briefs. “Didn't want me on my knees this time?” Buck said, his voice muffled and slightly slurred, talking against someone else's mouth on his. The words were mostly thoughtless, mostly talking because the silence was unnerving him, mostly just trying to get someone, whoever this person was, to talk back. “Didn't want me off the chain?”

Teeth closed on his split lip and Buck groaned, low in his throat, and a hand- again those odd callouses on his skin- went flat on his chest, pressing him back into the wall. Buck could feel the groan echo in his chest. “Fuck, what's your game ey?” Buck shuddered and jerked, the hand slowly working his dick was inside his briefs, skin on skin, callouses and short, blunt fingernails and hands hot and careful on the tight skin of his dick. “Whatever you're playin' at's alright with me.” 

A little snort again, someone almost laughing at him. He still couldn't even tell how far away this person was. Grant had never, would never, do something like this, honourable little squeamish cream puff. He probably hadn't considered it. Jason wouldn't either, he was pretty sure, Jason was too violent, too angry, was having too much fun on this island, a duck finding water for the first time. Keith's hands felt different on his dick, larger for one thing, and smooth, so fucking smooth-- that boy had been a goddamn marshmallow. 

Buck's hips knocked forwards abruptly, thrusting into the calloused hand with a snarl that shook his chest. He shook his head briefly and sucked at his split lip, the pain in it spiking and lancing down, making his dick throb. “Fuck,” he growled around his own teeth. The hand around him was light, gentle even, working him slowly, and patiently, and just fast enough that he was furious with wanting. The chains around his wrist clicked and tightened as he tried to pull his hands down. The fresh bandages on his sides felt heavy with blood, and dimly he realized the tension in his body was tearing him open again. 

“Shhh,” The soft voice came again. Buck's head raced through the faces of the people on the island. Rakyat and mercenary and those fucking American tourists and then discarded them all. Think, Bambi, he snarled into the silence of his own roaring mind. Strange callouses, sneaky little bastard, mean streak and more guts than Grant showed. Grant had no idea who had unchained him. The hands were smaller, those odd callouses... 

Callouses that were moving fast and sure over his dick, stroking him with a deliberate, driving necessity. Buck was panting, open-mouthed and hot and his skin felt too small and his head was spinning. His dick felt heavy and stretched taught and his spread thighs were shuddering. He was clinging to the chains over his head, wrenching at them with the dumb, spastic strength that had failed him for the last two weeks with Grant. 

He was being dragged into this, too hot and too fast, bullied blindly, driven along, the hands on his dick too gentle for the cruelty he was used to. He dropped his chin down over his chest, bit his split lip with a groan and jerked, losing his last fight before--

The hand caught at the base of his dick and held it, choking off his orgasm, making his balls jerk uselessly against the grip and Buck put his head back and roared. The strangers off-hand slapped flat against his hip and drove Buck into the wall, pinning him in place as BUck fought to thrust up for friction, jerk away, grind down into the hand that held him, and instead could barely curl over himself as his dick burned and throbbed in time to his heartbeat. 

"You little jackass," Buck hissed.

Strange callouses, knew exactly how to avoid Grant and Jason Brody...

“The baby brother," Buck breathed. He felt like laughing. "Thought Vaas kept you."

Again that little laugh, and the calloused hand around his dick tightened, held him at the edge of orgasm. The little punk blew a fine, cool stream of air over the head of Buck's dick. 

Buck flinched, full-bodied and helpless as the wet, gaping slit in his dick went cold. 

So the baby brother had a mean streak like Jason and was smarter than Grant. What the hell did these brothers do before they came here? 

"The hell do you want?" Buck wheezed, "You know your brother's been working me over for two weeks looking for you eh?" 

"I heard," The voice was quiet and matter-of-fact. "I appreciate you never told him." 

"What, that you were with Vaas? Why would I want to be helpful like that?" 

The little snort of laughter again. "How altruistic. Thanks anyway." 

"Cheers," Buck said, still panting, sweat still running down the side of his face and his heartbeat throbbing in his split lip and the head of his dick. "So, what's your question then?" 

"My question?" 

"You've got my dick in one hand and I assure you that's the strongest position to bargain from. You must be new at this." 

"I knew it'd be obvious." 

"You're not bad for a beginner," Buck said, with heartfelt honesty. He shuddered. "Oof, but kid, move it along ey? What is it that you want." 

"You're name's Buck right?" 

"Sure," Buck said. "I'd answer to anything right now if you let me come." 

The sudden, obscene heat of an open mouth made Buck's dick twitch, and Riley Brody sucked Buck's dick down over his tongue, drew him in deep. The strength went out of Bucks's legs and for a moment he was held up by the chains on his wrist as his thighs shivered. His hips jerked forward in a mad impulse and the hand flat over his hip pressed down with vicious strength that reminded Buck he hadn't had much to eat in two weeks. 

"Christ," Buck breathed, he struggled to get his feet under him again, Grant's baby brother was still sucking his dick, not fast though, not hard, not like Buck expected. He hadn't ever had anyone on his dick that hadn't treated it as an opportunity to hurt him somehow. Hell, he still hadn't. 

But this was close.

His dick was so swollen it felt brittle, the skin too tight, felt like it would split. His heartbeat was hard and fast and Buck felt light-headed and wondered if he was going to actually pass the fuck out for the first time in this entire interrogation. 

"Kid," Buck managed the words on a voice shot with agony, he'd already screamed himself hoarse but this was worse. "Kid your goddamn brother's got me down to about 4/5s of my average blood quantity you keep this up I'm going braindead." 

The youngest Brody brother jerked back before he laughed, twisting away from Buck and tightening his hold on Buck's hip to keep him in place. 

The laugh sounded unintentional, genuine in a way Buck hadn't heard in a long time. Riley Brody, that was his name. The kid that had dropped out of Vaas' bedroom window and set his house on fire. The one Vaas had gotten stuck on. Now he was on his knees under Buck, laughing at him. 

"Just tell me what you want kid," Buck snarled. Fuck he was tired. Tired and old and it had taken a long time but suddenly he understood just how firmly he'd been set in his ways here. How little he wanted to change. How narrow his life had become. 

The kid, Riley, said nothing, but he held Buck meditatively, kept him pinned, and that odd silence fell again. Buck was listening for it when it came, and he had no idea how Riley managed it. If he hadn't kept both hands on Buck, Buck would have sworn he was gone. 

Sneaky fucker, Buck thought, two big brothers. 

The thought slapped him in the face again. God, he was going brain dead. Riley had two older brothers and he was hiding from them, not Buck. 

"What the hell do you want, runt?" Buck asked again, real urgency in his voice. He thought he understood the Brody brothers. 

Riley kept his hand over the base of Buck's dick, but he took the other hand up, off his hip and Buck heard a sudden movement, then a scuff. As though Riley had tried to climb to his feet, then refused to let go of Buck before dropping back down. Buck would have eaten the blindfold if it had given him any idea what the hell Riley was doing. 

"Damnit," Riley muttered, his voice quiet, talking to himself. 

"Troubles? I can sympathize." Buck didn't understand this kid at all.

"The hell you can," Riley retorted, he sounded genuinely annoyed. 

"Help you with anything?" Why the hell was Grant an open goddamn book but this little brother wasn't?

"Are you always so helpful to people torturing you?" 

"No," Buck said, his voice still hoarse, his mind teetering on the brink of blackness. He could feel the grooves of Riley's fingerprints on his dick it was so raw. "No, but you're new I want you to feel you're doing well, positive reenforcement all that." 

Riley muttered something inaudible, but Buck caught the end of it. 

"...do talk too much." 

"I mean I'm being interrogated I'm supposed--" Buck reasonable explanation was cut off when Riley pushed both hands flat to Buck's hips, pushed him back against the wall, and caught Buck's dick on his tongue. Before Buck could scream, Riley closed his mouth over him, pushed himself up and let Buck in and cradled Bucks sore, shuddering length on his tongue and swallowed him whole. 

Buck choked before he could scream, he came hard, jerking mindlessly inside Riley's mouth, mute and nearly silent, panting and whining with his mouth open and his chest shaking. Riley didn't bite, didn't suck him hard or jerk backwards, didn't choke or spit or even laugh at him. Just kept buck in one place, let him surge and shudder and shake against him, cradled his jerking dick in the hollow of his tongue and kept sweet, wet pressure all around him, drawing back and forth only a little, gentle, careful movements, milking Buck of anything he had to give. 

"Fuck," Buck said the word and realized only when he heard the hoarse, breathless little noise that he hadn't any breath left in him. He gasped, felt his head spin and bit down savagely on his split lip without thinking. His dick jerked in response to the pain and Riley made a small noise of surprise. 

"You fucking..." Buck talked through his teeth, through the split lip, listening to the sound skin and meat made when bitten open, swallowing his own blood. Needing the pain to bring him back, remind him, keep him in his place. Make him forget about the sweet warm mouth cradling his softening length. He was almost too soft to touch now, spent and sluggish and Riley just drew back slowly, cradled Buck on the backs of his fingers, tucked him into his filthy briefs and zipped him up and left him just as he had been. 

"The fuck do you want, runt?" Buck's voice broke as he asked. 

It was silent in the cabin. Not even rain to mark if the noise had been blocked in the doorway. 

"Christ I'm talking to my goddamn self aren't I. Just--" 

"Open your mouth." 

"What?" Buck kept his teeth set on his lip. "Still with me, huh?" 

"Obviously. Open your mouth, you're the one being tortured here what happened to my positive reinforcement." 

"Fine, though I.." Buck loosed his lip, swallowed blood and kept talking, waiting for the iron bar in his teeth, waiting for a punch to the ribs, gun in his mouth, waiting for...

Buck couldn't even smell Riley. Couldn't hear him or sense him or know where he was by the heat of his skin. But he could feel it when Riley stepped up against him, narrow body, wiry with muscle and the promise of one more growth spurt, soft jersey cotton t-shirt pressing to Buck's bare chest. Riley Brody stood chest to chest, hip to hip, went up on his toes and caught Buck's split lip between his teeth, sucked it into his mouth and kissed him. 

Buck jerked, tried to bite, tried to throw Riley off in a burst of strength that came from panic. 

Riley traced the tip of his tongue up the split in Buck's lip, a gentle touch, soothing the itch under the skin, calming the burn of the pain. Then he let Buck throw him back. 

"The hell you playin' at," Buck snarled. 

The words were still on his lips when the knife slid over his skin, a long, shallow cut that flashed cold then burned as blood spilled down. Buck roared and jerked at his wrists again, snapped his mouth shut in a bite that could have taken a finger off. 

"Riley," Buck's voice was a low roar, his body warring for equilibrium as blood rushed hot and fast down his side. "You little.." 

But the cabin was quiet, and minutes went by, and Buck raged and fought snarled and talked and asked questions and tried to taunt the baby Brody into letting Buck know if he was still there. But after what felt like half an hour, Buck gave up, fell silent, sucked his bloody lip like penance and tried to catch his breath. Tried to fucking think.

The youngest Brody brother was hiding from Grant and Jason, but not Buck. 

“The fuck,” Grant's voice woke him. 

“Piss off,” Buck growled, his voice felt rough and sore, his body screaming, hanging limp from the chains. Blood was dry on his chest, making it itch. “It's through my fucking tattoo, isn't it. Bloody hell.” 

“Who the fuck did this to you?” Grant's voice was low, but Buck knew panic when he heard it. 

“Well you see mate some asshole put a fuckin blindfold over my head," Buck began, his voice thick with blood in his mouth. "So if you're asking me if I got a good description of the guy...” 

He broke off when Grant's composure snapped, almost audibly, and he drove Buck hard against the wall, bringing Buck jerking against his chains. 

Grant was a big man, he was the same height at Buck, had probably twenty pounds on him, and Grant had been combat-certified infantry before moving up the ranks. He was built heavy, and he'd been trained to kill with his hands. The violence he'd shown Buck had been restrained, purposeful. This was wild. Grant was frustrated and furious and moved fast with the strength that came from fear. 

Buck hit the wall and it ripped a noise straight out of him that is only be made by terrified, half-dead animals about to die. Grant hadn't made him scream like that before. Grant hadn’t scared him before.

The scream made Grant recoil and left Buck reeling. 

“Fuck,” Grant snarled. The heavy thump of his boots went across the floor, to the table were the usual implements were kept. 

Well, Buck through, staggering and trying to get his weight off his dead, hanging arms, I'll die today if Grant's feeling frisky. 

“Fuck,” Grant again, growling over the noise of a table full of neatly laid out torture instruments being levelled onto the floor. “Fuck.” Again, growling over the noise of Grant stomping to the door. 

“Oy, blindfold,” Buck started. 

“I'm moving you,” Grant snarled. “I can't fucking keep you here with that... That. I have to move you. Just shut the fuck up I'm taking the goddamn four-wheeler from Jason.” 

“Grand,” Buck muttered, putting his head back against the wall and reeling, willing his body to find some sort of equilibrium. Willing the pain that was tearing at him to calm down enough that he could think again. It was silent in the little cabin and the time ticked by. 

A touch on his chest, hard and brief, then it was gone.

“Fuck,” Buck groaned, “You ought to make more noise when you walk, it's only polite.”

There was a click and quiet, odd sound of straining metal, and a snap. Again, the click, strain, and when the snap came this time Buck crashed down to the floor with chain rattling after him. His knees hit the floor and he grunted in pain, opening his mouth to cry out just as a bar hit him, straight across his open mouth, catching him off balance and wrenching him around and down, slamming him to the floor. 

“Fuck,” Buck gasped, his split lip broken again, bleeding into his mouth, his breath gone, disoriented behind the blindfold, his arms dead weight at his sides. 

Another click, strain and snap, and again. His feet moved on their own, lashing out and for the first time, connecting with someone solid. 

"Fuck!" Riley's voice, started and angry.

“Gottcha,” Buck gave a bark of laughter.

Something metal and heavy slammed very hard into the floor beside his head. Then a clank as it fell to the floor away from him. Buck got his blindfold off and twisted on the floor, looking wildly around the empty cabin, the chain cutters lying beside him, a dent in the floor by his head. 

Grant was coming back, with a four-wheeler, to move him. 

Buck forced his screaming body upright, his arms limp at his sides and his chest a bloody, burning mess. Away in the jungle, Buck could just see a flash of blue, moving quick and careful through the trees.

Buck picked his knife out of the wreckage on the table. The old one, plain and simple, not the knife he'd wanted from Jason. His gun was here too, Grant hadn't been careful enough to keep that on him, and there was a shotgun outside on the porch. Buck scooped that up and the spare ammo. He got the chains off his ankles, pawing at them with his half-dead hands. 

At least the wanker had left a trail, even if he didn't make a sound. Buck could follow that. 


End file.
